


What Feels Good

by bravinto



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, Body Worship, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravinto/pseuds/bravinto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Just do what feels good,” Foggy said.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Just do what feels good; so far it all has been about Matt, and now he knows it will feel good to make it about Foggy. To get him satisfyingly full of his favourite food, let him rest, to caress all of his luscious body and bring it to extasy...</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	What Feels Good

**Author's Note:**

> I was astonished to discover that there were no belly kink fanfics in this fandom. I took it upon myself to correct this outrageous injustice. I hope you enjoy!  
> Thanks to my friend pulvis who prompted this scenario!

Matt is vaguely aware that he is dreaming because he can actually _see_ Foggy leaning back on the couch with a sigh of content, neon light of the advertisement screen flickering in the dark room, the way he imagined it might be in the visible world. Foggy pats his belly, they had beer and pizza at Matt’s, and he let Foggy steal a couple of his slices.

“What is it, Foggy?” Matt asks, tuning in to hear Foggy’s elevated pulse. “You sound off.”

“Might’ve overdone it, just a little bit.”

“Let me help,” Matt shifts closer and reaches under the hem of Foggy’s shirt to undo his belt.

He hears Foggy’s quiet moan of pleasure and lets his hand slide over Foggy’s full stomach. He straddles his legs and loses the thread of reality afterwards, because his vision dissolutes in other sensations. Warm lips meet his, steady arms hold him; all of a sudden Matt feels small and light enough for Foggy to just pick him up and carry to the bedroom.

 He wakes in his bed, and there’s no wonder he is seeing dreams like this: the sheets still smell like Foggy, after the two days they were tucked away in Matt’s apartment, and a good part of that time was spent naked, tangled together in bed. There is nobody here to judge him except God, and God won’t judge him for feeling childish, so he grabs the pillow from the side Foggy slept on and holds it close. He hides his face in it and inhales the scent Foggy left behind - sweetly hair conditioner and his mild minty aftershave that had almost faded by the second morning here; Foggy’s usual deodorant and underneath it just sweat and his natural smell, and also the trace of arousal musk, even though they still haven’t had sex. It’s hard to tell what is and what isn’t sex anymore, because whatever they are doing brings intimacy and fulfillment. He really should change the sheets, it’s been a whole week since he last did the laundry, but he wants to keep his lover’s memory here for a little longer.

 

Foggy left around noon, saying he had planned a couple things to do on Sunday and he needed to get going if he wanted to handle everything.

“Besides, I haven’t been to my place since Friday morning. A whole civilization must have developed in the food leftovers on the table by now. They are moving from slavery to early feudalism _as we speak_!” he said, changing from Matt’s bathrobe into his office clothes. “Man, I really need to hijack a shelf around here to keep a pair of sweatpants or something. It’s so unfair that you can borrow my homey clothes all you want, but I don’t fit into yours.”

“I’m sorry, partner,” Matt said, going after Foggy to the door.

“Eh, never mind. Okay…” Foggy leaned in, like he wanted to kiss or hug him but couldn’t quite bring himself. “See you tomorrow, in the office?”

Matt was painfully reminded that not everything between them had healed yet. In the simple question he heard so much more. Things like, “I know you are putting your mask on tonight”, and “it still hurts, but I accept you”, and “I want you to be careful”, and “tomorrow I will be waiting in the office for you to show up safe and sound”. He wrapped his arms around Foggy’s neck.

“Yes. See you tomorrow morning,” he said and tried to make it sound like a promise.

 He went out in the evening, but his patrol turned out uneventful, the only disturbance being a small brawl in an alley behind a night club, which didn’t even need any physical interference. All he needed to do was to make ominous noise up on the fire escape ladders and jump down to show himself in the light of a humming street lamp. Panicked heartbeats and noises of hasty retreat told him that his costume was the right choice. _Nothing drives people to the church faster than the thought of the devil snapping at their heels_. He returned to his apartment after two, things that can happen usually tend to happen before that time - bad guys also have daytime jobs and business to wake up to on a Monday morning. (He tried not to think about what went down unpunished on the weekend, when he was at home, enjoying the safety of Foggy’s embrace, not hearing anything past his heartbeat). So he just went home and burrowed deep under the covers and fell asleep.

 

Maybe it’s time he makes a move. Not because he feels obligated to - Christ, no. Foggy has been nothing but gentle and patient with him, and enjoying it, too. Matt grins into the pillow, this is exactly why he wants to set things in motion, Foggy is enjoying his role of a caring and protective guide into the world of sensual pleasures way too much. It’s time to stir this up, surprise him.

How to go about this, though?..

“Just do what feels good,” Foggy said.

It felt good to run his hands all over his lover’s face and body, to map and memorize it. To become intimately familiar with every small detail and imperfection.

“You’re not the only one with badass scars,” Foggy told him. “I really liked eating apples with seeds when I was eleven.”

He placed Matt’s hand on his belly and let him run his fingers across an old appendicitis scar. (He had another one, Matt knew, on the left side, between the ribs - a shard of glass had hit him at the bombings in Hell’s Kitchen; but he didn’t want to think about it, and was grateful that Foggy didn’t mention it). Scars mean pain, and Foggy should never be in pain. Instead, he concentrated on exploring the softness of Foggy’s stomach.

He’s known, of course, that his friend is on the chubby side, from the way he breathes, and from the times they hugged, and from Foggy’s own jokes about his appearance. They never seemed to have any real self-deprecation, though, so Matt hopes he feels confident in his body. Frankly, Matt finds the imposed ‘importance’ of looking fit confusing. His own body is just that, fit, effective. Trained for combat, tuned to compensate for the lack of vision. Functional. He has no special feelings towards his form, and doesn’t quite understand what’s so attractive about it, even though he was told so many times. Foggy’s body, though… It feels like it was made for joy, for giving and receiving pleasure. It’s comforting and indulgent. A soft body of a kind soul, Matt thinks. This harmony makes him feel good inside. This, and how smooth Foggy’s skin was under his hands, the feeling still lingering on the palms of his hands.

_Just do what feels good_ ; so far it all has been about Matt, and now he knows it will feel good to make it about Foggy. To get him satisfyingly full of his favourite food, let him rest, to caress all of his luscious body and bring it to extasy...

 For a moment hot shame burns him, it must be wrong to fantasize about his friend like that without him knowing. But then, didn’t Foggy ask him to think about what he wants?

 “What if you don’t like what I come up with?”

“Don’t worry, I have a good idea of what I enjoy and what I don’t. If I dislike it I’ll say no. Or if it falls outside of my personal experience, we could as well try it. And learn together.”

 

He breathes in, face smushed in Foggy’s pillow, pulls back his dream, then, and lets it run.

 ...Foggy is in his bed, naked and relaxed. He’s full of pizza and beer, feeling lazy and comfortable. Matt kisses him long and deep, like hiding in the shade and drinking cool water after a day out, on the frying pan of sizzling streets on a summer day. He is kissing the bitter aftertaste off his lips, and lets his hands roam. He caresses Foggy’s shoulders and arms that are soft but strong and secure. Foggy moves to hold him closer, but Matt pins him down to rest on the pillows, and he obeys readily. His heartbeat is loud and slightly hurried, alcohol and full stomach and desire all play equally into it. He’s making soft little noises, perhaps not even quite aware of them himself, as Matt kisses down his moving throat and stops for a moment to run his fingers over countless small birthmarks and rare hair on his chest, then moves further down.

“Your body is so lush,” he murmurs and knows that Foggy is blushing even more with his praise.

“Told you,” Foggy sounds a little breathless. “I’m delicious.”

“Yes,” Matt eagerly agrees.

He rubs his stomach and it’s so soft and smooth that Matt is suddenly aware of how calloused his hands are; he nuzzles Foggy’s belly and hears food and beer slosh quietly in there. Perhaps it shouldn’t turn him on so much, but it does. He plants a dozen light kisses all over the belly and feels Foggy tremble with pleasure beneath him.

 “Ah,” Foggy breathes, “Seems you like my love buffer…”

“Love buffer?” he giggles; even in his imagination Foggy keeps coming up with ridiculous expressions.

He kisses Foggy’s navel wetly, licking deep into it, tickling the knot at the bottom with his tongue, and Foggy jerks his hips with a short helpless gasp.

 Would real life Foggy love this? Matt hopes he might. He didn’t notice when he stuck his hand in his boxers, but it feels amazing to stroke his cock  to the thought of Foggy enjoying himself.

 ...Fantasy Foggy enjoys it very much.  Matt bites down on a small soft bump beneath his belly button, gently, not hard enough to even cause any pain, and feels Foggy’s legs open, heat radiating from between them. Up close the scent of Foggy’s arousal is sharp, heady, exciting. He moves to sit there, between his legs, and strokes the soft inner surface of Foggy’s thighs with a reverent feeling of being trusted. He kisses the intimately warm crease where Foggy’s leg meets body and finally takes his hot hard cock in his mouth.

Matt’s not sure if he could pull this off in real life, but fantasy permits certain creative license; he imagines deep-throating Foggy at once, and swallowing around him again and again until Foggy can’t take it anymore, until he starts grasping at the sheets and breathing out nonsense, both obscene and affectionate. Matt locks his elbows around Foggy’s hips and presses his palms flat onto his belly and keeps sucking him off, feeling Foggy’s body arch and flex sweetly under his hands until he cries out and spills.

 

Matt thrusts into his hand and comes, hard, for a minute or two losing track of what is real and what is not in a hazy, _foggy_ afterglow. He pulls off his boxers, wipes himself clean and throws them under the bed. The fantasy is over, but he can’t quite let go just yet.

He imagines taking each of Foggy’s weakened and relaxed legs, lifting and bending them up to his chest, rubbing the stretched muscles in his thighs.

“Whatcha doing?” Foggy slurs, his voice low and satisfied.

“Stretching you,” Matt answers, because he can’t let him suffer, even in his imagination. “Or you’ll be sore tomorrow.”

“It’s a good sore,” Foggy protests, but doesn’t do anything to stop Matt.

“Not on my watch,” Matt gets him to sit up and bend forward to touch his ankles.

“Alright, coach Murdock,” Foggy kisses him, smiling.

 Matt clings to Foggy’s pillow and his eyes drift shut. He’s still unsure if he should tell Foggy about his fantasy, but he will definitely clear a shelf for Foggy’s clothes. If his things come to live here, perhaps the place gets a bit cozier, like it was in college. Matt falls asleep, grinning. Getting to wear Foggy’s hoodie again, large and smelling like home, will also be a nice bonus.

 

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: in Russian a chubby belly is sometimes jokingly referred to as 'love buffer'


End file.
